Friday, September 13, 2013

So my brother calls me this morning, right at the moment that I
am crying because my husband and I have just opened an anniversary card from our middle child and it was so so beautiful and she lives so far away.

We have this conversation, my brother and me. I tell him that I am
having great difficulty handling the emotions associated with letting go of my
adult children.

I tell him – and he agrees – that it’s really ironic that I
am having this problem, considering the fact that I was so intent on getting
away from my own family as a young woman.

And without missing a beat, he says he thinks that there is
a ying and yang here, that is, the emotions that drove me to leave my past
behind, are related to the emotions that I am experiencing now.

He has known me all my life of course. He reminds me that as
a child I had what we call the “aroo tummin?” (are you coming?) complex,
shorthand for me not ever wanting to separate from my mother. This separation
anxiety was so severe that at age 12, when I went to stay with my cousin one
summer, I wet my bed. I think I remember coming home to my Mom earlier than I
was supposed to.

I remember a conversation with her afterwards that went something like
this: “Mom, if I can’t leave you now then how am I going to get married someday?”
My mom, smiling, responded by saying, “Well, I guess we’ll all just have to come
with you, in a caravan of cars!”

My brother (who is older than me by almost two years) noted
that when I turned seventeen I wanted nothing more than to escape the family. I needed to go as far away as possible in order to
become the person I was going to be. I spent years living in California and a variety of other places.

And then, boom, at 29 or 30 I made another switch, this time
deciding I wanted to have my own family. My husband and I came back to live only an hour from
my folks. I folded my emotions into my three kids, and enjoyed close relationships with my parents and siblings and other members of my family. Through all the kids' growing up years, I didn't give much thought to
the fact that like me, my three offspring were going to have to separate in order to live
their own independent and productive lives. My mother would express this irony with one of her favorite phraises: "What goes around comes around."

So here I am today, with the kids grown, reliving the same emotions that I felt as a child, terrified
of the separation, worrying and anxious that I’ll never accept the fact that
children grow up and move away. The empty nest remains the empty nest, until
you as a parent fill your life with new activities and meaningful
relationships.

And of course you continue to love your children. And of
course you have relationships with each of them. But you don’t put yourself
through misery every time you think about how wonderful it was to have your
kids as they grew up. You listen to your husband ask “Aren’t you glad your
children are happy and productive people?” and "Can't you enjoy all the wonderful memories you have of them?"

Just then the tears bubble up and that’s precisely the moment my
brother calls to ask me about this hotel in Rome and after I answer him, he asks how I am and instead of lying and saying I’m fine, I
tell him the truth: that I am having trouble adjusting to my role as the mother of adult
children. He tells me that yes it’s an objectively difficult problem, and then he offers his wisdom, that some
of the impulses and emotions I feel today are intricately tied up in with the way I felt as a child growing up. He adds: “Your greatest strength is also your greatest weakness.”

I thank him and say that I am afraid if I write about this
issue, I am going to make myself depressed and he says “No, I think just the
opposite is going to happen.” He says he thinks that I need to deal with this
problem and writing about it in a clear way might be exactly the right cure.

I’m not sure about that, but then again, as soon as I hung
up the phone, I ran to my computer and wrote down what you see here.

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

I used to be a writer. I used to think it mattered what
images I saw in my head. I used to spend considerable time finding just the
right words to capture those images on paper. I used to stare off into space,
seeing the faces of my characters in what felt like a movie strip. I could see
how they walked, and laughed. I could see the color and texture of their hair
and the lines in their faces.

I used to care what these characters thought, how they felt
and acted, and what motivated them to do what they do. I used to sit for hours
joyfully creating whole worlds that my characters and I would inhabit. I loved babbling away on paper. It made
me very very happy to write.

So what happened ? How is it that I can hardly
bring myself to the keyboard anymore. Where has my inspiration gone? Why have the cinema strips gone dark?

My husband says I let rejection slips sap my creative
spirit. He may be right. Today I received another rejection on my second novel.
The agent I had sent it to spoke of the pleasure that she had reading my
opening chapters. But as she wasn’t "passionate about the voice or the plot, " she
was going to pass. I think I have received the exact letter from a dozen other
agents, just in the last couple of months.

If you are not careful or you don’t have a Teflon
personality, those rejections can poison your spirit.

Try as I might, I’ve let the rejection letters seep like
toxic water, deep into my heart. They have helped to ruin my love of
writing.They have convinced me
that writing fiction is a total waste of time, because I’m never going to have
anyone to publish or read it. If I want it published, I have to do it myself. I
have to spend the money to publish it and then find the energy to carry the books
to bookstores and signings. I have to scramble to get reviewers who will take
my writing seriously. I have to stand up to the constant feeling that I am not
a “real” writer because my fiction has not been recognized by the major literary
marketplace.

No matter that my first novel (a mother/daughter story called Dreaming Maples) was very well received. No
matter that the novel was nominated for a Pushcart prize. That doesn’t matter.

I could be sitting here now with tears brimming. I could be crying over the fact that what I used to love doing, what used to feed my soul, all
that creative energy, has fizzled away.

But last week I met this dynamic woman -– Suzi Banks Baum --
who writes 1,000 word a day. She happily publishes on her blog. She doesn’t
talk about rejections. She is too busy writing and bringing together a bunch of
other women who write about motherhood and art and the creative force.In the words of one of these women, Suzi
has “pulled us all into her powerful orbit" where she holds the women in a circle of creativity. Recently Suzi served as editor for a collection of women's writing in a book called An Anthology of Babes. The book features the writings and visual art of 36
women who combine mothering with their art. This is a book you should buy and read from
cover to cover. It’s electrifying to feel the energy and passion these
writers and artists have.

This book, and Suzi, and the collection of writers she has
assembled, have had a profound effect on me. For the first time in months, I am excited to start writing again. Once again, I am getting inspired to see my filmstrip rolling.

So if you need a jumpstart on your writing, buy this book. And if you like to read inspiring essays, buy this book. It's well worth supporting this dynamic group of women artists.

There's one other reason to buy the book: part of the proceeds from book sales help to support two organizations that provide vital services to women in Berkshire County.

Tuesday, September 03, 2013

Anyone who has read his amazing books knows that spiritual leader Thich Nhat Hanh has a profound ability to make us feel deep appreciation for the moments we live.

He reminds us over and over again that being happy doesn't involve waiting for some future event to arrive, or in acquiring some object or satisfying some desire. Thai -- the name he uses -- shows us that joy is right here in this very moment we take our next breath. Happiness lies in the ability to be mindful of all of the joy and mystery of life. One of his many quotes is this one:

"Breathing in, I calm my body and mind. Breathing out, I smile. This is the present moment, this is a wonderful moment."

Indeed, every moment of life is a miracle.

On Sunday, I had the good fortune (along with about 1500 other people) to spend the morning with Thich Nhat Hanh, who was in retreat at the Blue Cliff monastery in Pine Bush, N.Y. I have always loved Thich Nhat Hanh's books and messages, but I wasn't sure what to expect of him as a speaker. I was astonished at Thai's ability to make so many of us in the huge crowd smile. He reminded us that we can be in contact with joy simply by taking the time to focus on the in-and-out of breathing and so many other of life's mysteries.

Many of us who crowded into the monastery on Sunday to hear the humble 87-year old Vietnamese monk speak were smiling during the entire presentation.

He has the remarkable capability of communicating profoundly moving ideas in simple words and images. While acknowledging that life inevitably involves suffering and loss, he makes us see that peace and joy lie in appreciating (being mindful of) so many of life's everyday activities.

At the end of his talk, Thai invited all of us to take a mindful walk. I was sitting with friends in a tent outside the monastery hall, which was packed and overflowing. But it turns out that our tent seats were ideal. As Thai proceeded to lead the mindful walking, he headed directly toward us, and came so close that we fell right in step only a few feet behind him. While the skies were threatening rain, and the rumbling of thunder filled the air, we made our way around the Blue Cliff's beautiful grounds.

And then, Thai stopped, and sat down, and prepared to give a blessing.

My friend Christine, who once before encountered the monk at another retreat (she passed him on a walk and he handed her a Bodhi leaf), sat very close to the spiritual leader. (She is the blonde woman in the photo.) But no matter how close you were to the spiritual leader on Sunday, you felt the power and magic of his message and the peace and joy that fills his life and the lives of all who are fortunate enough to hear his message.

"Take Hold of Seeing Red With Your Hands, Your Fingers..."

August 7, 2011 “…take hold of this book with your fingers, your hands, your arms. It’s that human.Ricci has not only crafted wonderfully-flawed characters, she has brilliantly painted in the scenery around those characters.” Sandy Prisant, Wordsmith Wars.

"You Forget You're Reading, You Just Feel Like You're There!"

"With a book as artfully written as Seeing Red, it only takes a few pages to become immersed in Ronda’s world. For a time you won’t even know you’re reading; you’ll just feel like you’re there."
--Emily Suess, Suess' Pieces, July 22, 2011

Readers Rave About "Seeing Red"

July 7, 2011

“I finished Seeing Red!!! Great book!! You really have a gift for writing such compelling novels. I couldn't put it down. I loved the whole part in Spain. It made me want to move to another country. GREAT JOB!!!!!!!”

– P.M. Woods, author, Spinning Will

July 6, 2011

“I am having the best experience reading your book. I would love to see the bookmade into a movie. You are a genius, you have amazing talent…write more!”--Ruth Horowitz,Boca Raton, Florida

June 27, 2011

“I just finished Seeing Red this a.m.! The last 100 pages of that book fly! Your leading lady, with the help and encouragement of others, allows all her dreams to come true! I like this buoyed up narrative. Even when you discuss traumatic events, within a few pages, you’ve disentangled Ronda, so your reader knows that it’s her inner struggles that cause her the most angst. So in all, a *nourishing* read! I get the feeling this is somehow autobiographical, at least the son, Jack. And your descriptions are so VIVID. I could see everyone and everything. And as I mentioned the other day, your secondary characters are painted so strongly. They’re all wonderful, and I wish I knew them personally.What makes this book so interesting and worthwhile, is that it is all about reaching personal fulfillment and happiness (imagine fiction doing that)! Even in her darkest places, Ronda comes through for herself and others. You’ve given her (and us) a sense of possibility and resolution. Your work reminds us that, despite obstacles (some quite severe) happy, even celebratory, endings are indeed possible! This is perhaps the HAPPIEST novel I’ve ever read! It made me feel good, and as I said, nourished.”

--Nancy Dunlop, Ph.D., Delmar, New York

June 4, 2011

“I finished reading Seeing Red a few days ago. Thank you for a wonderful story! Ronda is a scrappy heroine with whom many of us can identify. She reinvents herself, with some uncertainty, but with determination, too. Her husband is such a jerk! The oily Enrique is thoroughly detestable, too. Leely and Freida are spirited, assertive ladies who refuse to fit a mold. I know I must now read Dreaming Maples. Keep writing Claudia!”

-- Christine McKnight, Schuylerville, N.Y.

June 1, 2011

“Well Claudia I just got done crying, at 12:30 a.m. after finishing Seeing Red. I stayed up late four nights in a row reading Ronda's journey, and out of all it, it was Jack that got me sobbing. I enjoyed Ronda's journey through Spain, the process of her learning to dance, her friends in Spain, the trip in the caves! I love her driver! I love her figuring out (through Leely) that men have dictated so much of what she thinks about herself. I like that she had a lot of doubts, I never trust characters who have a few paragraphs of doubt and then move on, charging ahead. Most of us revisit our doubts a lot. It's part of the process and you conveyed that well. And I really like that her journey had so many detours. It wasn't just “go to Spain, take on a few hurdles, and voila, the results are in.” It was a lot of detours and I like that. I love the part about the shawl and her dancing, so powerful!!! You really conveyed that transition and the power of the shawl very well. (And I believe a light, flowered shawl is symbolic of being wrapped in love.) Also, I love the party! Wow, what a book!!!”